


How To Steal My Heart

by TracyLorde



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Heist, One Shot, Teacher Bellamy, Thief Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 04:43:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14012436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TracyLorde/pseuds/TracyLorde
Summary: Bellamy Blake has a situation on his hands--he's got to keep a family secret from being exposed, and he has no idea how to do it. Then he runs into a mysterious blonde, and suddenly a wild and desperate solution occurs to him.





	How To Steal My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the classic Audrey Hepburn/Peter O'Toole movie "How To Steal a Million”

It was 9 o’clock on a Friday night, and Bellamy Blake was already in bed. His sister Octavia was on vacation with her girlfriend so he had the house to himself. Murphy had invited him out for drinks, but Bellamy knew how that was likely to go. He had to work in the morning, and teaching was far easier (in his four years experience, anyway) without a hangover.

He had something rather distressing on his mind, and had for the last few days, so he was trying (and failing) to distract himself with a mediocre mystery novel. He had just figured out who the killer was when he heard it. A quiet, almost imperceptible tapping noise. He sat up in bed and listened closer. The noise was coming from downstairs. Bellamy had a feeling that he was no longer alone in the house. 

He slipped a pair of pants over his boxers and crept from his room to the hallway, then down the stairs, moving silently in his bare feet. When he reached the landing, he saw what the noise was. A window across the room was open and the light September breeze was beating the curtain against the wood frame. 

He wondered if Octavia had opened the window before she’d left for her trip, and the sense that something was wrong intensified slightly. He continued to scan the room, perfectly still.

It took him a moment to find them in the dim light. But finally his eyes adjusted. He saw a figure clad all in black and holding, to his horror, an oil painting. 

It took Bellamy another moment to find his voice, and when he spoke he tried to project confidence though he wasn't feeling much. 

“Who are you, and what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He stepped forward slowly, trying to pin them in without an escape. They didn't look armed, and they looked small enough to take in a fight, if it came down to it. 

“Who are you?” he repeated, tone more forceful as he stepped closer still. 

The figure had a black knit cap on, and they held the frame of the painting up to their face so the only feature Bellamy could make out was a pair of bright blue eyes. 

“I’m very sorry to have disturbed you,” the intruder said, in a husky, surprisingly pleasant, definitely female voice. 

Bellamy drew himself up to his full height and scowled, still very much on guard. “What are you doing in my house? And what do you want with that painting?”

The intruder lowered the painting slowly, and Bellamy saw that it was indeed a woman. She had a pale, pretty face and her blond hair peeked out from under her hat. He couldn't make out much else in the dim light. 

“I would have thought it was obvious,” she said in an amused voice. “I was trying to steal it.”

She remained perfectly still, but gave him a glance up and down, her eyes lingering on his bare chest. Bellamy crossed his arms, suddenly very aware that he was clad only in a pair of jeans. “Yes, that much I had guessed. But who are you, and how did you know this painting was here?” He ought to have called the police by now, he knew, but something stopped him. Something about this woman intrigued him deeply.

She shrugged. “I have my sources. This is a Van Gogh, you can’t just have a Van Gogh in your house without someone knowing about it.”

Bellamy’s mouth grew dry. “Yes, well…it’s a family heirloom, and I’d very much appreciate if you could just leave it with the family.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Fair enough. I suppose I’ll just leave the way I came in…” 

She made to move toward the open window. 

Bellamy stepped forward swiftly. “I’m going to have to press you on this…how did you know about this painting? I don't want to call the police, but I will if I have to.”

“I don’t think you will,” the woman replied, too calmly for his comfort. 

“Why’s that?” he asked, his heart rate through the roof. 

“This,” she gestured to the painting at her feet, “is a forgery. And I’m betting you know it.”

Bellamy’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t believe it. Standing before him was the solution to his dilemma, practically dropped in his lap.

—-

Truth was, Bellamy had only known that painting was a forgery for about three days. Octavia had let it slip so casually that he almost didn't register what she’d said, at first.

“Wait, what do you mean Grandpa’s collection is fake?” Bellamy asked, frowning at her from across the kitchen. 

“They’re fakes. They’re forgeries, Bell,” Octavia replied, raising her eyebrows. “You really didn't know?”

“Of course I didn’t know!” Bellamy yelled, nearly spilling his coffee in his distress. “All of them? Every single painting?”

“Mhmm,” Octavia nodded.

“Even the Van Gogh?”

“Especially the Van Gogh. He painted that one, and most of the others. A few were done by Uncle Boris.”

“My entire life is a lie…” Bellamy groaned, sinking back in his seat and running a hand through his hair. 

“You really thought that Mom inherited a dozen paintings by the masters and we’re still just living here in the same shit hole apartment?” Octavia asked incredulously.

“I guess I thought they were family heirlooms, and she’d never want to part with them…” 

“Yeah, she couldn’t,” Octavia said. “That would involve tests for legitimacy and verification and all that.”

“Well…fuck.”

“Yep.”

Bellamy was about to take a sip of his coffee when it hit him. “Wait, what about the statue of Apollo? The one that’s in The Arkadia, the one by Cellini?”

“Oh, that? Yeah, that’s fake too. Grandma sculpted that, she used Grandpa as a model. When she loaned it to the museum they never bothered to verify it.”

Bellamy shook his head. “I can’t believe our family name is on a forged artifact.”

“It’s not a big deal, no one’s ever going to find out. I mean, after Mom died she willed it to stay there.”

“She knew?”

“Of course she knew! We all knew. I thought you did too. You must have been too busy learning Latin to pay attention to our own family history,” Octavia teased. 

“This isn’t funny, O!”

“I mean…it’s a little funny.”

They dropped the subject shortly thereafter, since Octavia had to pack for her trip and Bellamy didn't have the energy to discuss their family drama at length. Though he was obsessed with this revelation for the next several days, he didn't think he’d ever have to do anything more than reconcile with his own conscience. That was before he got the letter from The Arkadia stating that, as per his mother’s will, the statue would be entering the museum’s permanent collection. Which, apparently, required a formal appraisal. He and his sister were invited to attend in two weeks’ time. 

That’s when Bellamy realized what he had to do. He had to steal the Apollo from the museum in order to preserve his family’s good name. And he had no idea how he was going to do it. Until he intercepted a thief in his living room, that is. 

—-

“How did you know? How did you know it’s a fake?”

The woman shrugged. “I’ve had some training to achieve my success in this line of work. I wasn't sure at first, but after taking a closer look at the brushstrokes and the wood bars used to stretch the canvas I knew. It’s a forgery.” She glanced around the room. “I’d imagine it’s not the only one, either, unless that’s a real Monet…”

Bellamy drew in his breath. “I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t say anything. I don't intend to profit off these paintings, but it would destroy my family’s legacy if this got out.”

“I understand,” the woman nodded, then narrowed her eyes as she looked him up and down. “You do seem oddly familiar, I have to say. You’re Bellamy? Your grandparents were Bradbury and Millicent Blake, the painter and sculptor?”

Bellamy nodded.

“Well, Bellamy Blake, your secret is safe with me, on one condition.”

Bellamy’s heart began to beat faster. 

“I need a ride home,” the intruder finished casually. 

“That’s…it? Just a ride home? You’re not going to try to blackmail me for money or anything? Not that I have any…”

The woman bit her lower lip. “Tempting now that you mention it, but no. Do we have a deal?”

Bellamy sighed in relief. “Fine, yes, I’ll call you a cab.”

As he put the phone to his ear he was pretty sure she was still checking him out, but he was honestly too overwhelmed to give it much thought. 

“They’re on their way,” he told her when he’d hung up. “Should be here in a minute, I hope. It’s getting late, and I’ve got work in the morning.”

“You work?” 

“Some of us do, you know.”

The woman grinned. She had a nice smile, he thought, for a thief. He also noticed how the dark clothes she was wearing couldn't quite conceal how shapely her figure was. If he didn't know better, he’d say he was pretty attracted to the woman who’d broken into his house in the middle of the night. Fortunately, he knew better. 

“What do you do?” she asked, perfectly innocent, as if it were a first date.

“I’m a teacher.”

“Not art history, I’d imagine,” the woman joked. 

Bellamy couldn't help but crack a smile. “No, Latin.”

“So what you’re saying is, this is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to you.”

Bellamy snorted. “That would be true of any number of professions.”

“You’re doing great, to be fair,” the woman continued. “Very good head on your shoulders. Very good shoulders, too.”

Bellamy couldn't think of a reply, he just smirked. There was something about this girl.

They could see lights at the end of the street—the cab was nearly there. Bellamy couldn't help but notice how the woman’s hair was beginning to fall out of her knit cap, framing her face with little golden strands. 

“I have just one other favor to ask you,” she said, opening the door. “I want to get out of your hair and all, but it appears that I forgot to wear gloves tonight.” She held up her hands with a self-deprecating smile. “Be a dear and wipe off the frame for me, won’t you?”

Bellamy raised his eyebrows and followed her out to the cab, heat rising in his cheeks. “Is that all? You don't need a forged passport, or some counterfeit money?”

“No thank you,” the woman replied cheerfully, “Though you do seem to be from a family that could get me what I need in that regard.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Bellamy shook his head. “I suppose you’d like me to kiss you goodnight, too?”

The woman grinned. “We’ve only just met, so I’d usually say no, however…” she leaned up, and before Bellamy knew what had happened she was kissing him, and he was kissing her back.

When they finally separated, her eyes were alight with mischief.

“Where to?” he asked, as if he could have played it off.

“The Ritz,” she said lightly, and took a seat in the cab. 

“You’re a very chic burglar,” he muttered.

“Well, you know where to find me,” the woman replied, smiling wickedly and closing the cab door. She waved, and was gone, Bellamy standing alone in her wake. He was left with the realization that this mysterious intruder had the ability to solve his problem, and he didn't even know her name. 

—

The very next day after work, Bellamy went to the Ritz. He was torn between waiting in the bar for his mysterious intruder to show up, and making up some story so that the desk attendant would give him more information. He abandoned the thought of the latter because he realized he didn't have enough details to even make up a story. He knew the woman was beautiful, blond, and had kissed him. She was also a thief. Not exactly much to go off of as far as hotel records go. 

He ordered a Manhattan, but just sat and let the ice melt while he kept a close eye on the front door. He nearly gave up, when he saw her. 

She was still dressed all in black, but today had a shopping bag over her arm and was wearing a pair of sunglasses. He’d spent quite a lot of time thinking about her since last night, and would have recognized her anywhere.

She was headed for the elevator. Bellamy threw a few bills on the counter and ran after her. He made it through the doors right before they closed. 

There were three other people inside, which explained why she simply removed her sunglasses and smiled benignly at him. The other hotel guests left on the next two floors, and when they were alone she finally spoke.

“Are you stalking me?”

“Trying to,” Bellamy replied.

“Well, here I am.” 

“I don’t know your name.” He paused, pushing up his shirtsleeves nervously. “You know my name, and I don't know yours.”

She grinned. “I’m Clarke. Clarke Griffin. Was that all?” 

“I have a job for you,” he blurted out, unable to determine how exactly to begin this thing. 

Clarke raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Please, step into my office.” They were on her floor now, and she led him back to her room. 

It was a large suite on the sixth floor, beautifully decorated and immaculately neat except for a pile of clothes on the bed. She set her shopping bag down next to it and turned to face him. 

“I didn't think they handed out branded bags to shoplifters,” he joked weakly. 

“I paid for those,” Clarke said calmly, taking a seat. “Now, what’s this job you have for me?”

“I need your help stealing a statue from The Arkadia.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’m sorry, just the other night you were appalled to find me in your living room, and now you're planning an art heist from a major museum?”

“The statue belongs to my family!” Bellamy said exasperatedly. “You didn't think I’d ask you to help me take something that doesn't belong to me, did you?”

“No, of course not…” Clarke replied dryly, gesturing to a chair. “Sit down, and tell me the whole story.”

He did, and she listened to him ramble off everything he’d learned about his family in the past week. 

“So this statue, it’s a forgery too?” she asked, when he’d finally taken a breath. 

“Yes, my grandmother carved it, apparently, and as a joke they gave it to the museum as a real artifact. The museum just accepted it and it’s been on display in the atrium ever since.”

“It’s never been verified as legitimate?”

“I asked my sister about that, she just said ‘it was the sixties.’”

Clarke chuckled. “Fair enough. So why is it being appraised now?”

“It’s being added to the permanent collection instead of just being on loan. It was in my mother’s will…I guess she didn't know this would happen…”

“I guess not.” Clarke crossed her arms over her chest. “Alright. I’m in.”

“Really?” Bellamy had been prepared to make a further argument, and was quite taken aback she’d agreed already. “I can’t pay you up front, but I have a plan…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“What?”

“I have someone who can arrange a buyer and get us both paid.”

“Who’s going to buy a forgery?”

“You’re forgetting one very important fact. You and I and your sister, I suppose, are the only ones who know it’s a forgery.”

“That’s true…”

“So if I sell it as a stolen work of art, the buyer won’t have a choice but to forgo an appraisal.”

“I can’t believe I didn't think of that…”

“Don’t blame yourself.” Clarke leaned forward and patted him patronizingly on the arm. “You’re very new to this whole art theft business.”

“Yes, well I’m not planning to make a habit of it, thanks.”

Clarke pursed her lips. “You’re very judgmental for someone who so badly needs my help.”

“I’m sorry.” Bellamy covered his face with a hand briefly. “It’s just…I don't want to have to be doing this, but if I don't steal that statue in the next week, I’m done for. I mean, all of this will come out once they find out it’s a fake.”

“A week?” Clarke asked. “Well, we’d better get to work, then. Tomorrow is Saturday…I’ll meet you at the museum say…ten o’clock?”

His heart palpitations were back. “Are we going to steal the statue at ten in the morning?”

Clarke smiled. “No. We’re going case the joint, Bellamy.”

—-

He met Clarke on the steps of the museum the next morning. He almost didn't recognize her this time. She was wearing a pair of perfectly tailored navy pants, a soft grey sweater, and flats. She had a pale pink shade of lipstick on and not a hair was out of place. She didn't look like the sort of person who would break into people’s houses in the middle of the night. He was not sure what to make of Clarke Griffin, not at all. 

She smiled at him as he approached, and he felt a tightness in his chest, not unlike the feeling that had gripped him the other night. 

“Ready to do this?” 

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” Bellamy said, and into the museum they went. 

They pretended to look at a few other exhibits on the first floor while knowing they were going to have to come back to the atrium to scope out Apollo. Clarke was much more convincing than Bellamy—he was so nervous, he kept looking up and around them more than at what they were meant to be looking at. Clarke was perfectly relaxed and poised. She seemed very amused by his nervousness at first, which irritated him, but finally took pity on him.

“Relax,” she breathed, taking his hand and squeezing it gently. “Pretend like you’re not here to do anything illegal, and you’ll be fine.”

“Shhhh, you don’t have to say that so loudly!”

Clarke just laughed quietly and led him out of the Byzantine exhibit. “Let’s see the family heirloom now, shall we?”

The Apollo was about fifteen inches high, carved from gorgeous marble. It was a classically beautiful figure of a naked man, with rippling muscles and a graceful pose. Bellamy had always thought of it as a masterwork, and it was strange to see it again knowing that his grandmother had carved it. 

Clarke was still holding his hand as they stood before it. She subtly took in their surroundings, then focused her attention on the statue. Bellamy held his breath. She narrowed her eyes, cocked her head, then dropped his hand and took a step forward. She was frozen in place there for so long he began to grow worried. 

“Everything alright?” he asked under his breath.

Clarke turned back to him, an odd expression on her face. “Just noticing a slight resemblance, that’s all…I’m wondering if it’s as accurate below the belt as above it…”

Bellamy frowned, then blushed slightly as he realized her meaning. He had, after all, been shirtless in their first meeting, and now she was comparing his naked physique to the statue of a Greek god before them. 

“Very funny. Can we focus, please?”

Clarke smirked. “I’m trying. Where exactly were you in the early part of the sixteenth century?”

“I don’t know, but that’s not how I was dressed.”

Clarke just grinned. “Wait here.” She floated off in the direction of the curator’s office. 

Bellamy collapsed onto a bench in the atrium. He hadn't expected to be quite so exhausted this early in the process. He had no idea what Clarke's plan was yet.

He started to grow worried when she hadn't returned after twenty minutes, but suddenly she was walking past him, whistling. She tipped her head for him to follow her, and he scrambled to his feet. 

He finally caught up with her on the steps. She turned, a casual smile on her face. “Well, that went well. How about a drink?”

“That’s all you need?”

“Mhmm. It’s going to be a fairly easy job, actually.” She gave him another glance up and down.

“Stop doing that!”

“Sorry, sorry…you don't happen to have a janitor’s uniform, do you?”

“I’m a teacher, Clarke.”

“Just trying to plan our next move.”

“I thought our next move was getting a drink.”

“You sure could use one.” She took his hand again, and let him down the steps and across the street into a bar. “How’s this? See anyone you know?”

Bellamy scanned the bar, and shook his head. 

“Perfect.” Clarke waved to the bartender and pulled Bellamy towards a booth in the back. “I’ve nearly got our plan together.”

“Well, that's a relief…”

“Is that why you look like you’re having heartburn?” Clarke asked mildly.

Bellamy rolled his eyes. The bartender, a pretty dark haired woman, set two shots down in front of them, smiled at Clarke, and walked away.

Clarke clinked her glass to Bellamy’s. “Bottoms up.”

She downed the shot in one quick motion, and Bellamy followed. 

“You start every job with day drinking?” he asked, the whiskey still burning his throat. 

“It’s worked every time so far,” Clarke replied, then pulled out her phone. “Alright, I’ve got nearly everything worked out…”

On Monday, they would go to the museum just before close. Clarke had identified a supply closet that was just out of the range of the surveillance cameras, where they would hide. There were only two security guards stationed overnight, so in between their rounds Clarke would trigger the alarm system (she didn't say how), until they were forced to reset it. 

During the reset period, Bellamy would sneak out and nab the statue while the alarm was still turned off, then make a quick getaway with Clarke. There was no need to worry about being caught, since Clarke would disable the cameras in the atrium while the alarm was turned off, and Bellamy would be in disguise in case anyone did spot them leaving.

“And that same night I’ll arrange a meeting with my buyer,” Clarke finished. “We’ll use your house, if you’re alright with it.”

“That’s fine…what’s next?”

“Nothing. We’re done. Meet me at my room two days from now at six o’clock. We’ll head to the museum together from there.”

Bellamy nodded. His head was spinning, mostly from how surreal the experience was. 

“You promise you’ll try not to get arrested in the next two days?” he joked in a low voice.

“I’ll do my absolute best,” Clarke replied, eyes twinkling. 

“I’ll see you then.” Bellamy extended a hand. “Thanks for your help with this…I don't know what I’d do if I hadn’t…”

“Run into me?” Clarke asked, smiling.

He chuckled, and his hand lingered on hers. Her eyes suddenly grew softer and he had a feeling she knew he was reliving their kiss. He smiled and dropped her hand, turning away finally. He didn't want to leave, but he knew he had to. He had to sort out this disaster with as few casualties as possible, and getting romantically involved with someone like Clarke was no way to do that. 

—

When he arrived at Clarke’s room the night of the heist, she was already dressed in a very similar outfit to the one he’d seen her in the first time they’d met. 

“C’mon in.” She gestured to her bed. “That’s for you.”

Bellamy picked up a folded dark blue jumpsuit. It was made from worn canvas fabric with a patch over the left breast that read Vincent.

“Really?” he asked, showing her the name.

“Don’t complain. Now get dressed. You’ll have to wear the jumpsuit under your coat, there won’t be much room to change in the supply closet.”

Bellamy changed in the bathroom, and had to admit the jumpsuit fitted pretty perfectly. It wasn't exactly his style, though…maybe in another life. 

Clarke was sitting on the edge of her bed when he rejoined her.

“You ready to steal back your statue, Bellamy Blake?”

Bellamy took a deep breath. It was now, or never. 

—

They arrived at The Arkadia half an hour before closing. Most of the staff had already gone home, and since it was the slowest day of the week (according to Clarke’s research), there were very few other museum goers around. They lingered in the atrium while one of the guards made her way to the second floor, and it was easy enough to sneak into the supply closet under the stairs, the lock to which Clarke deftly picked while they had the atrium to themselves. 

It was dark, cramped, and rather cold in the closet. Clarke quickly turned over a bucket and took a seat. She glanced up at him, and Bellamy could see her bright blue eyes shining in the dim light. 

“Make yourself comfortable. We’re going to be here for a few hours.”

Bellamy sighed, and quietly moved a few cleaning supplies out of the way so he could slide down and take a seat on the floor. His legs grew cramped after half an hour, and he cautiously stretched them out, one on either side of Clarke’s bucket. 

Clarke cocked an eyebrow at him.

“You told me to make myself comfortable,” Bellamy whispered. 

Clarke opened her mouth to reply, but paused. Her head was inclined in the direction of the door. Bellamy waited in silence until she spoke. 

“That was the second guard,” Clarke whispered. “It’s time for the first alarm to be set off.”

Bellamy waited while she slowly got to her feet, quietly opened the door, and stepped just outside the range of the security cameras. He could see that she pulled something from inside her coat, and flung her arm away from her body. Within ten seconds, a piercing alarm was ringing out, and Clarke was back in the closet with Bellamy, holding a curved piece of wood to her chest—a boomerang. 

“What on earth—“

Clarke immediately lunged forward and put a finger to his lips.

They were frozen there for several moments, while footsteps raced around the atrium. After a minute, Clarke lowered her finger but didn't move, staying pressed against him. 

He watched her eyelashes flutter as she quickly blinked, listening attentively as the confusion died down. Finally, all was still again, and she grinned up at him and took a seat on her bucket. 

“That wasn't so bad, now was it?”

They repeated that exact routine twice more: Clarke threw her boomerang, set off the alarm, and waited for the fuss to die down. 

The fourth time, no alarm sounded. 

“This is it,” Clarke whispered to Bellamy. “We’ve got fifteen minutes for the alarm system to reboot.” She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Bellamy was glad the dark of the closet hid the extent of his blushing. “As soon as I disable that camera, you need to grab the statue and go. I’ll meet you around back.”

Bellamy nodded, and waited for Clarke to slink out of the closet and around the lobby till she signaled him.

He approached the statue quickly, but cautiously. As he reached for it, he couldn't help but think Clarke was right…it did look an awful lot like him. Must be the family resemblance. 

He had anticipated it being heavy, but not quite as heavy as it was. It took him both hands to lift it off the stand and place it down in the case Clarke had provided him with. 

He turned to scan for her, even knowing that she wouldn’t be there. He was running out of time, so he secured the case, pulled his hat down over his eyes, and sped out the front door.

No alarm sounded. Clarke had been right about the reset…about everything. He made his way quickly down the street, then darted into the alley they’d mapped out to slip out of the jumpsuit over his clothes. That went into a dumpster.

He was shaking slightly with nervousness, his hair damp with sweat. It was still hitting him: that he was a felon, that he’d committed a crime, that he was just following the family legacy of lies and deceit. 

“I liked you better in the jumpsuit, to be honest.”

Bellamy glanced over his shoulder to see that Clarke had found him. She was waiting at the other end of the ally, her face glowing in the light of a streetlamp. 

If someone had told Bellamy Blake just two weeks earlier that he’d have committed a crime and fallen for the woman who helped him do it, he wouldn't have believed them. But now, watching Clarke watching him, feeling the adrenaline racing through his body, he was overcome by the desire to relive this night again and again. And the night wasn't over yet.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand and the case and leading her away from the crime scene. “We need to get out of here before they figure out the statue’s gone.”

Clarke gripped his hand eagerly, and hurried to match his long strides. “I didn't know you’d take to this so well.”

Bellamy pulled her down another side street, and both of them froze as a police car sped past. Clarke had her back to the wall, and Bellamy was pressed up against her like they had been in the closet. 

He couldn't pull his eyes away from her face, the curve of her slightly open mouth and the way her lashes framed her wide blue eyes enthralled him. 

“I think it’s safe to run now,” Clarke said, but her breath was shallow and her eyes locked on his. 

He tipped her chin toward him slightly with his free hand and kissed her gently, then deeper, running his fingers through her hair. She moaned slightly and wound her arms round his waist. 

“I’ve wanted to do that all night,” he whispered in her ear. 

Clarke bit back a smile. “I was hoping it wasn't just me.” She paused, eyes still locked on his. “I’d say your place or mine, but I think we have something of yours we need to get home safely.”

He’d forgotten about the statue entirely, the weight of the case hardly registering in his left hand. Clarke realized that he had, and laughed quietly. “Come on,” she said, taking his hand again. “Let’s finish the job.”

When they returned to his home, Bellamy immediately closed all the blinds and secured all the doors while Clarke called her buyer from the kitchen. When she rejoined him in the main room, he’d unpacked the statue and set it on the coffee table. 

The smooth, luxurious marble was a stark contrast to the aged wood and worn upholstery of the living room furniture. It suddenly looked very impressive in the space, much larger than it had under the high ceiling atrium of The Arkadia.

“I still think you’re overlooking the very obvious resemblance,” Clarke said with a smirk, taking a seat beside him. Bellamy had just turned to face her when they heard a single sharp knock on the door. 

Clarke leapt up and peered through the blinds. “It’s him.”

A bearded man wearing a black cap on was at the door when Bellamy opened it. “Griffin here?” 

Bellamy opened the door fully. Clarke waved him in.

“Nate, this is Bellamy. Bellamy, this is Nate, our buyer.”

The man had immediately made a beeline for the statue, and was circling it with a small flashlight, inspecting each detail. “You sure you want me to take this off your hands?” he asked Bellamy. “I understand it’s something of a family heirloom…”

“I’m sure,” Bellamy replied. “It’s proved to be more trouble than it’s ever been worth.”

The man nodded, and was packing up the statue before Bellamy had blinked. 

“I’ll make sure you don’t see or hear about it ever again,” he said to Bellamy as he picked up the case, then turned his attention to Clarke. 

“Money will be in the account first thing tomorrow. Thanks for the tip.” He paused, glancing between the two of them. “You know, Griffin, of all people I never thought you’d stray from the straight and narrow…”

Clarke shook her head. “That just shows how little you really know me.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Good luck. Don't forget to check in occasionally.”

“You know I will.” Miller waved to both of them, then he was gone as quickly as he had appeared. 

Clarke sank back onto the couch, exhausted, but Bellamy was stuck on her friend’s parting words.

“What did he mean, you of all people?”

Clarke looked up at him with a slightly bashful expression. “I have a confession to make…” she patted the couch next to her and he took a seat. 

“I’m not exactly the person you think I am,” she began, staring at him earnestly. 

“What do you mean?” Bellamy asked, heart beating faster. 

“I’m not an art thief—“

“What—“

“I detect stolen works of art and forgeries. It’s why I was here the night we met, I got a tip that there was a collection of forgeries here.”

“But how…you helped me steal the Apollo!” 

“I’m also expert on security who often consults for museums like The Arkadia,” Clarke said, biting her lip. “I have multiple degrees in art history and chemistry, and I’ve never committed a crime before in my life.”

Bellamy’s head was spinning. “Why now, then?”

Clarke flushed slightly. “It was a good cause, in the end. And you asked me to.”

“I hardly know you,” Bellamy said in disbelief. That wasn't strictly true anymore, but it had been when he’d asked her for help. 

“I know.” Clarke said simply. “But I’d like to change that.” 

She’d edged slightly nearer to him, her fingers brushing his. Bellamy was lost in her eyes, blue wide and hopeful.

Clarke’s lips parted just as he kissed her, and the little sigh that escaped her made his stomach turn with longing. 

“You know, it’s national crime prevention week,” Clarke murmured, when he’d pulled back.

“Mhmmm, what’s that mean?” Bellamy asked, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I think you’re supposed to take a burglar to dinner.”

Bellamy laughed, and instinctively checked his watch. “It’s 4:30 in the morning, Clarke.”

Clarke giggled back. “Alright, breakfast then.”

“You mind if we try and get some sleep first?” Bellamy asked, taking her hand and leading her towards the bedroom. 

“I mean, you can try…”

Bellamy raised his eyebrows. “I’ve spent all night trapped in a closet and I’m in no mood to be teased.”

“I’m not teasing,” Clarke replied, kissing him again and fiddling with his belt buckle. “Besides, I’ve got to see if the rest of you lives up to the Apollo…”

“Not teasing, huh?” 

Clarke nipped at his ear. “Well, maybe just a little…”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Find me on [tumblr!](https://tracylorde.tumblr.com)


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